What Have You Done?
by disco-chic
Summary: Revision of the "Don't Make Me Move You" scene, if Wesley had not been there.  Tinkering with some wording and chapter placement.  Story is pretty much the same as before  so, yeah, more chapters, but, no, nothing new yet .  Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Unforeseen circumstances necessitated its deletion in early Nov. As circumstances seem to have resolved themselves, original 2-3 (from Oct.) have been reposted now, combined for continuity and reworked a little (mostly the same otherwise). Chickened out from posting as a T b/c of suggestive themes, and it probably would've confused my readers, anyway. So, it's rated M once again.

Apologies to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, and Fox/ W/B. I know these characters, etc. are not mine, and I expect nothing from their use.

* * *

"**What Have You Done?"**

Cordelia sighed as she finished up yet another case file. "And closed. Just six more and I'll be on my way. Ugh. "

It was late. She sent Wesley home half-an-hour ago, and now she was alone in the office. He had protested, of course, but she ordered him to go home. He was better off taking it easy. That gut crater made him gimpy, anyway, which was making her process take about ten times longer than it normally would.

She told Gunn to take Wesley home. She had pulled him aside to express her concern that Wesley was having more trouble than he was letting on, and she made Gunn promise to stay with him for a couple of hours to make sure everything was OK. This ended in a definite win-win for everyone involved: Wesley got some rest, Gunn got out of filing, and Cordelia got two guys out of her hair.

And who really wants to argue with Cordelia Chase, anyway?

Now that she had just six more case files to finish up for the evening – four of which just needed to be put away, she didn't feel quite so overwhelmed. Or unfocused. Or hopeless. Besides, it was also good to help take her mind off Angel.

God! There she went again as her thoughts drifted (albeit against her will) toward her former boss. He turned his back on his duty – on his _friends_ (she still couldn't believe he fired them). And then showing up at the hospital out of the blue? Thoughts of that evening swirled deliriously in her mind, exasperating her as she slapped the folder and its contents on the desk. What was that about, anyway? Did he really think a late night drop-in was enough? Wesley probably wouldn't have taken that bullet in the first place if Angel hadn't thrown his hissy fit and abandoned them for his own sick obsessions!

Cordelia lowered her forehead to her hands and sighed heavily. But he was her friend. She'd really like to ash him right now, _but he was her friend _– and more than that, if she let herself venture into that territory. Always had been there for her no matter what stupid situation she got herself into. Always found some way to rescue her. And what did she do when he asked for a lifeline?

She felt a little sick (but only a little, because he totally deserved it) when she remembered the resentful words she spoke to him outside Wesley's hospital room. She wondered if Angel would ever forgive her for that . . . or if she could forgive herself. She felt tears prick at her eyes. "Why, Angel?" she breathed. "How can giving up everything gain you anything?"

She stretched her arms and tilted her head from side to side, trying to loosen her neck. Cordelia wasn't going to think about that right now. She had work to do. Lives depended on her. At least _she_ hadn't lost sight of what was important. And part of that was collecting the correct fees for their services. Hey, they had to keep roofs over their heads . . . and Jimmy's on her feet! "All right, Scarlett," she said to herself as she opened the next folder and scanned the description, "what do we have left?" She saw a blank next to "demon description."

"Great," she grumbled to the empty room. "Thanks, Wesley. Y'know, not all of us are Super-Demon-Encyclopedia Browns. Just 'cause you and your Stephen Hawkingness knows about every demon in Dickens detail doesn't mean we all do. I don't know how to charge for something I don't know anything about."

Muttering to herself about inconsiderate invalids, she walked to the wooden bookshelf on the far wall and began scanning titles when she heard the front door slam open behind her. Cordelia turned and immediately froze. Angel quickly strode toward her, a determined look plastered on his blank face.

Shocked, she spit out, "What are you doing here?"

Angel wouldn't look at her, and she thought he was going to ignore her question completely (which promptly incensed Cordelia). But, instead, he abruptly responded, "You took all the books." He pushed her aside and selected a book – _her book_ – off of a shelf.

This action (and her growing fury) dragged Cordelia out of her stupor.

She grabbed the book out of Angel's hands: "I'm – I'm reading this one." She hastily moved between the bookshelf and his large body and threw the book back on the shelf. She said cattily, "Here. You take this one," as she shoved another one into his hands.

Angel flung it to the floor. He stared at Cordelia through angry, empty eyes.

"Don't make me move you," he said calmly . . . quietly . . . dangerously.

Cordelia's breath caught in her throat. She looked at him cautiously, taken aback by his threatening tone. For a split second, she was actually afraid of him – of what he might do to her.

"Give me the book, Cordelia," Angel's voice rose in anger. "NOW!" he yelled. She jumped as he shoved the bookcase behind her with a force that cracked a shelf and broke the supports. The entire structure was sent toppling to the side, volumes scattering as they fell to the floor in a jumbled heap.

Livid heat rose in Queen C's body. _He forgets what he's supposed to be fighting for – and fires us – NOW he wants to take the book I need to write up a case file? OH, HE'S SO NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS. _Cordelia's eyes narrowed, her jaw set stubbornly – and she looked up at him defiantly.

"Make me."

Conflicting emotions danced across his face. Surprise – despair – humor – annoyance – anger. He growled deeply.

"Fine," he spoke dismissively, and he shoved her aside. Her body collided with a wall, her face hitting hard enough to crack the plaster. As Cordelia hit the floor, Angel bent over the mound of books, searching.

She groaned as she rolled onto her hands and knees. She tasted blood and realized her lower lip had split from the impact and was now oozing drops of red. At the moment, she was facing away from him, and she was glad. She didn't want him to see her on hands and knees. Shaking, she stood slowly as she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand and said, "I don't even know what you are anymore."

He stated coldly, "I'm a vampire. Look it up."

She watched him in silence as he rifled through the pile of books. Cordelia knew she couldn't let him go without trying to talk some sense into him. Angel was going to do something stupid – she just knew it. She wasn't going to let him blow his chance at his Shanshu if she had to die trying.

"Angel," she started. "You're not just any vampire."

The only sound left in the tiny office was the zip of cloth-covered backings as books were picked up followed by the banging of spines and fluttering of pages as those books were tossed on the hard floor.

She chided him, "You're the big champ for the PTB. Doesn't that mean anything to you? You're the reason why the world doesn't suck as much."

More books banged on the tile floor, their pages ruffled as if protesting the fall.

She grew bolder, "And us. What about us? And me? We need you – _I_ need you, Angel. Let us help you. We can get through this together."

Angel didn't even acknowledge her existence as he reached down for yet another volume. He looked at the cover and then opened it to skim through the pages.

She wiped her mouth again with her hand. She wanted to slap him. "Fine. If not for the world – if not for us – then what about you? Look at what you're doing to yourself." She yelled him, "You're screwing up any chance you have for your Shanshu!"

He snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm. "I don't deserve it now," he said under his breath, not even looking at her, as he turned to walk out.

Cordelia crossed in front of him, preventing him from leaving.

"The HELL you don't!" she hissed, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm not going to let you do this to the world – to us – to yourself – especially not to yourself! I don't know what the Hell is going on with you, but it ends TONIGHT. Grow up and out of this teenage temper-tantrum, mister!" she poked him hard in the chest.

"Cor-"

"I'm not standing around here-"

"-delia, get out of –"

"- and letting you-"

"-my way."

"- screw up our lives anymore –"

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND!" Angel finally screamed at her violently. He looked at her hatefully.

Cordelia took a step backward at his volatile outburst, and she saw his eyes take in the blood on her lip. What she saw in their dark depths didn't look like hate, though – it looked like anguish and fear. She reached out and touched his shoulder with familiarity. She drew closer, "Then explain it to me."

At once, his face was again empty, seemingly void of all emotion.

"Please, Angel," she said, her brow creased with concern, a frown on her beautiful face. Her hazel eyes glowed golden-brown as she implored him, "Please help me understand." For a minute, Cordelia thought he was going to relent. Hope swelled in her belly as she saw that cement block wall starting to crumble.

But as quickly as the moment was there, it disappeared, replaced by something she didn't understand – fear mixed with passion and confusion – frustration and anger . . . he dropped the book, grabbed her arms, pulled her close.

So close she could smell the blood on his breath.

"You really want to understand?" he asked quietly, menacingly. "Is that what you want, Cordelia?" He shook her and pulled her even more closely to his body. Cordelia could feel the tension between them as she felt his cold, lifeless body radiate heat into her. He lowered his head toward her ear and breathed, "I could make you understand."

She bit her lower lip and gently pushed him back to look in his dark, predatory eyes. She hesitated, but her voice was clear and strong: "Then do it. Please. Let me help you."

Angel's face didn't stay angelic for long. He gripped her arms tightly as he put on his game face. "OK, baby. How 'bout that makin' you understand?"

Cordelia's eyes widened, and she struggled against his tight grip.

"Y'see, I figure the only way you can _understand_ is if you're just like me. Course, I have to do a little work to make you like me . . . and then there's the slight problem of you losing your soul . . . but if we have a little fun just before," he backed her into a wall and pushed his body into her, his hands still clenching her arms. He brought mouth close, and she could feel his lips move on hers while he whispered, "we'll both be soulless – and neither of us will care anymore."

Terrified, Cordelia screamed, "Get off me, GET OFF ME!" and helplessly pushed against him, her heart pounding.

Angel let her go, and his visage shifted as he bent down to retrieve the book. "Didn't think so," he said with finality. He then eyed her, almost thoughtfully. "You were a lot more fun when you were just a self-centered bitch. You're still a self-centered bitch, but now, you're self-righteous."

His hurtful words stabbed into her gut.

He smiled at her suggestively, his eyes roaming over her body, "Dredge up just **a little more** of your old self and you would make a fantastic vampire." He winked at her sarcastically.

She looked at him in disgust, but she still maintained control. "Go. You have the book. You got what you wanted," Cordelia spat at him.

Angel's eyes flashed.

"Just LEAVE. And don't ever come back," she managed to hold on to her anger without the quiver creeping into her voice.

His face returned to its blank, determined state as he strode out the door. He said over his shoulder, "Finally. All I wanted in the first place."

Cordelia ran to the door and locked it, heart beating so fast it hurt her chest to breathe. She leaned back on the door and slid down to the floor, hugging her knees against her body. "Stop it. STOP IT," she said to herself. But she still couldn't prevent two big tears from streaming down her face, followed by two more. And then two more. She didn't know how long she sat there, the brief incident playing over and over in her mind.

"OK. OK. Got to finish those files. Got to do something to get my mind off of –" and she stood up. She found the coffee pot, coffee, filters. Started the brew. Looked at the time. Dennis was going to be upset with her. Especially because she wasn't going to tell him about why she was late this evening - now morning. She wasn't going to tell anybody. Ever. It was just too much.

She didn't see the dark figure who waited in the shadows outside as she locked up the office an hour later. Didn't see him watch her walk up the block to her jeep. Didn't see him follow her home and watch her climb the steps to her apartment. After a while, the figure turned all of his attention to the book she had ripped from his hands not quite an hour before.

Or at least he tried to.


	2. Chapter 2

As usual, my apologies to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Fox/ W/B. These are not my characters, and I don't expect anything from their use.

… … … … …

Chapter 2

Cordelia had put on a brave face for Dennis, who could tell that something was wrong. He saw the bruise beginning to form on her face, saw her lip. She smiled at his gallant attempts to make her life easier . . . she knew her spectral roommate could tell something was up. Dennis turned the lights low first, thinking she had a massive headache from one of her visions and brought her pills to her. She waved them away. He brought her ice cream. She smiled briefly but refused. He turned her TV to her favorite late-night program. She stared into space.

After numerous attempts at getting her to talk or even relax, he started a hot bubble bath for her. She sighed, "No, Dennis. It's OK. I'm just too tired tonight."

Picking up the small whiteboard and marker, Dennis penned, "What can I do?"

Cordelia stifled a sob, "Oh, Dennis. You're the best friend I could possibly have. Just don't ever leave me, OK?"

Dennis was a little disturbed by this presentation of emotion: Cordelia always was in one-hundred percent control and never allowed weakness to show. That she was at the point of tears greatly unnerved him.

He wrote, "Should I call someone? Gunn? Wesley?"

"No," Cordelia laughed and wiped away the tears before they could fall. "Don't call anyone. It's nothing, really. I'm just so very, very tired. And I didn't eat dinner – but I'm too exhausted to eat now," she added quickly, afraid Dennis would start pulling pots and pans out for her. "It's all that and the stress piling up. No biggie. I'll feel better in the morning, after I've gotten a good night's sleep."

Still not convinced, Dennis wrote, "Shower?"

Cordelia sighed again.

"Feel better. Sleep better," he wrote.

She smiled wearily, "OK."

While she took her time in the shower, Dennis remade her bed and laid out her softest pajama bottoms and an Egyptian cotton tank top. He heard the water stop in the bathroom and laid the herbal ice pack for her bruised cheek next to her pillow. Knowing she needed some time alone, Dennis left her a note and then retreated into the depths of the apartment building. He'd be back to check on her in an hour or two, after she had fallen asleep.

He wasn't there when her front door opened. Wasn't there when a figure entered her apartment and closed the door. Wasn't there when it took its place in shadows and then stood . . . waiting.

Cordelia stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping steadily onto her shoulders. _He was right_, Cordelia thought – and smiled. _I do feel better._ "Dennis? Hey, Dennis, have you seen my ultra-absorbent hair towel?" she called out as she crossed into her bedroom, oblivious to the presence in her darkened foyer.

She saw her bedclothes laid out for her, and she felt her chest grow tight. Dennis had taken great pains to prepare her evening so she could rest at ease, even if only for one night. After reading his note, she smiled and brought her hand to her heart, "Dennis, I swear – if you were alive, I'd be your girlfriend – or stalker – insane mother aside!" She laughed and then smiled genuinely for the first time that night.

Languidly readying herself for bed, her thoughts drifted to Wesley and Gunn. She wondered what they had done for most of the night. She smiled again. Probably played Wes' PS2. She dressed absentmindedly as she envisioned Wes and Gunn battling each other. Gunn would likely win every game, she bet. Well, right now, anyway, while Wes was injured. After Wes was back in the game and all healed up, he'd totally kick Gunn's ass again. Wes was killer when it came to those video games.

_Now, if he could just take that video game aptitude and use it . . ._, she thought as she toweled her hair and donned her top and bottoms. "I love you, Wes, but you're not the best fighter in the world," she said, as if she were talking to him directly. "Oh, puh-lease. I could way kick your ass AND take your name! Gunn, however, is a-whole-nother . . ." her voice trailed off as she brushed her hair.

She let her mind wander to lighter thoughts as she crossed into her kitchen for a glass of water. Cordelia reached into a cabinet and pulled out a glass she had "borrowed" from Angel's apartment, back when she, Doyle, and Angel were a team. She kept meaning to return it, but something always stopped her. There wasn't anything terribly significant about it – other than it just seemed to remind her of Doyle. And Angel. Well, Angel as he used to be before he went all psycho. _Doesn't matter if it's returned now or not_, she thought.

"No," she said aloud to herself. "No more Angel tonight."

She forced herself to concentrate on whether or not they could legally do anything about that family with the little girl and that eye demon. _I mean, we DID deliver results – they can't deny that. They could at least give us the cost of the powder. Plus a reasonable shipping fee. I wonder where Wes gets his stock from . . ._ she thought as she plopped ice cubes into the glass, then closed the freezer with her shoulder. Cordelia ran the tap until the ice floated just below the rim. She took a sip as she crossed back toward her bedroom, anxious to lay her head down, when she saw something move in the shadows.

She gasped and turned to face the shadowy figure, water spilling onto the floor. It moved. _Someone's – or something's – in my house!_ she thought. Her heart raced as panic mode started to set in, and she thought through where her weapons were. No one could help her – Dennis was who-knows-where. Even if she called Wesley, he couldn't help her. Gunn was, at minimum, across town at Wesley's, at least thirty minutes away. Screaming never brought her neighbors running. She found that out when she first leased the apartment and Dennis' crazy mother tried to kill her.

With dawning realization that she was alone, Cordelia made the decision to fight. At least go down fighting. Humans were usually less predictable than demons, but at least they were mortal. Demons, well, this must be what bringing work home with you is like. She psyched herself up – she'd made it through Sunnydale High without dying or limb dismemberment – she could handle this. No worries. The figure moved again, and she tightened her hand around the glass. A couple more steps and she could throw the glass at it – him – whatever and make a dive for her bedroom. She drew back her arm, ready to throw, and she cocked her head and squinted to get a better look at what she was up against.

She dropped the glass. It shattered on the floor, ice and glass scattering in all directions. "Get OUT of my house!" she said heatedly.

Angel didn't move. He watched her silently.


	3. Chapter 3

As usual, my apologies to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Fox/ W/B. These are not my characters, and I don't expect anything from their use.

… … … … …

Chapter 3

Cordelia didn't move, either. Fear engulfed her as she remembered his earlier proposition, but that fear was doused by the fury she felt at his intrusion. _She would be damned before she would let him scare her in her own home._ She just had to inch closer to her bedroom where she had a variety of demon-repelling weaponry of the vampire kind.

"You're playing with fire here – Dennis!" Cordelia called out.

"Dennis isn't here," Angel said quietly.

Cordelia didn't think he could possibly know that, so she challenged him, "You really want to call my bluff?"

Angel crossed toward her slowly, "I will," he said, as if warning her. "If need be."

Cordelia slowly crept toward her bedroom, navigating around the broken glass at her feet. "Fine. Whatever. Won't matter because when I scream, the entire floor will hear me."

"You won't scream, and we both know it."

Angel continued to advance slowly toward her, but she was now just a few feet away from her bedroom door.

His dark eyes caught hers and held them while he said pointedly, "Nobody around here seems to care when someone is in trouble, anyway."

She could make it. She just needed to distract him. And move slowly.

"Why don't you go BACK to Hell! Get out of my house – of my life! Don't you have something that you need to be doing right now? Like rounding up some people and then feeding them to your girlfriend on a silver platter?" _almost there . . ._

Angel quickly closed the gap between them and blocked her exit.

"What?" she tried to keep herself from panicking. "Trying to trap me now? You feeling peckish? Your girlfriend need a midnight snack?" she taunted him.

Cordelia willed herself to not back down as he reached for her. She blinked back another round of angry tears as she breathed, "She's not _her_, you know."

He reached out, then hesitated. His hand tenderly touched the purpling bruise on her face. "I'm sorry," he said, cupping her cheek with his hand.

Again, tears threatened to form as Cordelia blinked fiercely to retain them behind her eyelids. "You don't have the right –"

He stroked the mended skin of her lip with his thumb with a gentleness that took Cordelia aback. "I'm sorry," he repeated. Angel looked at her with what Cordelia thought might be regret . . . but she wasn't sure. At any rate, she wasn't ready to forgive him. Or herself, for that matter, for pushing him away the night of Wesley's injury.

Words formed, but her throat choked them back. She couldn't seem to find a way to make them manifest. Partly from confusion and partly from exhaustion, she turned her cheek into his hand.

"I can't do this, Angel," she whispered and pulled her chin away. He lowered his hand. She lowered her eyes.

For a few tense moments they both said nothing. Angel broke the silence, "I'm not asking you to do anything."

"Aren't you?" Cordelia's risked a wearied glance up at him. He regarded her quizzically, she thought. "Just by you being here, you're expecting something."

"Why do you assume I'm expecting anything here?" Angel, for the first time that evening, truly appeared confused. She saw the look on his face and almost laughed.

"I know you don't," she hoped he didn't catch her slip just then. She changed the subject, "I know you don't expect anything. You're too – YOU for that."

Angel's blank stare spurred her forward. Maybe she could finally atone for her own mistake . . . "You are the embodiment of everything worthy of forgiveness. You've made the most incredible mistakes, and you're out there, owning those mistakes, not casting blame – and you still fight every single day to make up for them."

His gaze fell to the floor, and, seeing her moment, Cordelia seized the opportunity. She grabbed his hand, "But it's more than that, Angel. You don't just fight the fight for you – you fight for others, too. And I think you'd do it even if your evil twin were nonexistent. You can see the good in everyone, whether they really deserve it or not." She spoke avidly, "You _know,_ really _know_ – the difficulties of second chances – the fear of letting others down – the determination to not fail and go down fighting if you must – you know all these things. That must be why the Powers chose you as their champion."

She watched him bring his dark eyes up to her intense stare, and she searched his face for a sign that her words weren't lost on deaf ears. He dropped his eyes, and she felt him try to pull away, but she held his hand firmly, not letting go. "You know we're all worth saving. Even you. That's why you'll Shanshu," she intimated.

"I couldn't save her," he said.

Afraid that she might destroy everything she had just accomplished, Cordelia treaded lightly, "I know."

"In a moment I can't get back, I failed her – Wesley – you," his face betrayed his defeat. He appeared almost ancient as he admitted his belief.

Cordelia's heart ached. "No. Some things you can't control, Angel. And I forgive you for acting like a bona-fide ass," she held on and refused to release him.

Angel didn't pull away this time. Rather, he covered her hands with his free one and moved in close. He asserted, "You – you amaze me."

Cordelia managed a small smile, straining the bruised skin of her lip, and ironically said, "I amaze myself. Comes with the territory."

He didn't laugh, but he held her hands.

"Um, so," Cordelia was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny, yet heartened that she'd gotten to say what she wanted to say. She squeezed his hands. "You OK?"

He didn't respond, but ambivalence shone on his face.

"I mean," Cordelia continued and gestured with her shoulder, "Dennis is sorta pissed at you right now, so, it's probably better if you're not here when he gets back from wherever he is. And you staying here is probably not what you want right now, anyway."

He didn't breathe. He didn't move. He didn't make a sound.

Cordelia was getting creeped out by his behavior, or lack thereof. "What?" she anxiously asked.

"It is," he finally resigned. He closed the gap between them and gently put his hands on her shoulders, his eyes black as coal, "What I want. Very much."


	4. Chapter 4

As usual, my apologies to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Fox/ W/B. These are not my characters, and I don't expect anything from their use.

… … … … …

Chapter 4

"Okaaaay," Cordelia wasn't sure what he meant by that, but his creepy factor (which was eerily similar to his sexy factor) was slowly climbing again. _At least if he stays with me_, she reminded herself, _he won't do anything else stupid tonight_. She wondered at how Wes and Gunn would take it. It wouldn't be easy to win back their acceptance, but she was sure that if Angel had her on his side the other two would come around quickly . . . even if she had to make them.

"So, anyway, I'm glad we had this little heart-to-heart," Cordelia took a step forward and embraced him, settling her cheek into the front of his shoulder, her temple on his collarbone. She even allowed herself to feel a little relief for the first time since he had gotten rid of her, Wes, and Gunn.

She felt him rest his chin on top of her head as he enveloped lightly her in his arms. She wished she could see his face. "Well, like I said before, we have to wait for Dennis to come home before I hit the hay so I can explain why you're here. You've, uh, gotten a bad rep lately around here," Cordelia pulled easily from his embrace and stood at arm's length. It was then she noticed his odd expression.

He quietly asked her, "How can you forgive me for being what I am? For what I've done?"

Cordelia answered, "You've always had my forgiveness for what you've done, even before you asked for it." Feeling her eyes tear up again, she continued, a tightness creeping into her voice, "But you never needed forgiveness for being what you are. You are who you are whether by purpose or accident."

Conflict played on his face.

Cordelia wished she could see into his mind. "Angel?" she queried. She reached out to hold his shoulder then allowed her hand to move down to the tip of his elbow and up again, a movement that made her chest ache she realized it a little too familiar for her to make. She blushed a little as she let her arm drop. "Y'know, Angel, we all love you. We're all pulling for you, me especially," she confessed. "I hope you get that."

He backed away from her, but was still within her reach. The blankness returned to his expression, but he responded, "I do get it."

"BUT," she had to get a grip. Cordelia Chase does NOT back down: "I'm not gonna beg you to come back. You've got to make that decision. Freedom to decide our own fates and all – it's one of our only benefits living in this world. You've got to make that choice by yourself." _Please make the right one . . . _ "Do you want to be evil, bloodthirsty, scary demon or heroic, cuddly, sexy manpire?"

She waited for a response, and she saw him struggle when he finally formed the words, "Without my soul, I don't feel. And it doesn't hurt."

Anxiety crept into her chest, and she felt her skin prickle with nervousness. "Hurting is human, Angel. Isn't that what you want? To be human?" She tread lightly, understanding she was moving into dangerous territory, "To be human is to feel hurt. But we also feel hope. And happiness. Love."

"All of which I can't experience."

"You can."

"But not fully."

They both knew why. Different rules applied to him. Cautiously, Cordelia suggested, "Have you ever let yourself be even a little bit happy since you found out about the 'true happiness' clause in your curse?"

Shaking his head, he said, "I can't."

"What's stopping you?"

"I couldn't control it."

"But you will," she stated.

"How do you know that?"

She shrugged and said simply, "I know you." She smiled matter-of-factly, "You're too stubborn to fail."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He sighed quietly. "You have too much faith in me."

"Pffft! You don't have enough in yourself, Sir Broods-a-lot."

He closed his eyes. "Maybe I haven't earned it yet," he said softly.

Her heart ached, and Cordelia crossed to him. She reached up and placed her hands on his cheeks, gently tilting his head down to look at her. "Everyone deserves a little happiness, Angel. Even you."

And then she saw it. The last wisp of darkness in his eyes seemed to vanish in front of hers. It was replaced by something she couldn't make out, but that didn't matter to her. What did matter is that she finally got through to him.

He leaned down, resting his forehead on hers, their nose tips touching. Cordelia sighed deeply and closed her eyes. For the first time in days she allowed herself to truly smile.

She heard him inhale a ragged breath. She sensed him tense. Then, she felt, rather than saw, his head tilt forward, his cheek barely touching the bruised side of her face. And even so, she was still startled to feel the pressure of his lips, moving slowly against hers, encouraging her silently to lose herself within his kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

As usual, my apologies to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Fox/ W/B. These are not my characters, and I don't expect anything from their use.

… … … … …

Chapter 5

Her heart began to pound, her pain from her wounds dissipating. Before she realized what she was doing, she leaned into him, parting her lips at his urgency. Cordelia heard a soft moan – she didn't know whether it came from her or from him.

Breathless, she pulled away. "I'm not Buffy, Angel," she said.

He smoothed his hand through her hair, entwining his fingers in the damp softness and tugging her head back so her eyes made contact with his, "I don't want you to be."

"Don't you?" Cordelia looked at him seriously, a curious sadness descending upon her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear his answer, though.

"No," he kissed the tip of her nose, "You make me happy just being you." Then, with feather light kisses, he made his way across her cheek to the sensitive spot just under her ear. She gasped as he breathed heavily into her ear and nibbled. She thought she might collapse, but he surrounded her with strong arms. She lost her balance, backed up, and stepped into the shattered glass, cutting her heel and ankle in the process.

Seconds later, she felt blood weep from her ankle and down her heel, and, in that moment, Angel's mouth returned to hers, and he deepened his kiss. His caress became more aggressive, and he started to pull at her shirt. His palms found their way under the soft cotton and pressed tightly against her sides. Cordelia felt herself being pulled into a whirlwind of emotions and lust – but she could have sworn she heard a low growl, deep in his throat.

She tilted her head to draw in breath, mouth opening, and he drew in her bottom lip and nipped, as if urging her back to him. Cordelia felt a sting as her cut reopened, and a quiet moan escaped her lips as he sucked on her lower lip.

And then, something changed, for almost immediately, Angel was on the other side of the room, but he kept his eyes on her. "Get away from me," he said quietly.

"What's –" confusion swam over Cordelia as she tried to understand.

"Get the Hell away from me!" he spat as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

She daubed at her lip and grunted as she took tentative steps toward him. "It's just a little blood. You should be used to blood by now, even if it is mine. No need to get nasty. I'll clean it up –" she broke off as she took in his fearful expression. Disappointed, she thought maybe they had both crossed the line with a little too much enthusiasm for his liking. She reassured him, "It's OK. We're OK. I know you didn't mean –"

"You think you know me? Know what I am?" Glaring at her through black eyes, he kept his hands firmly at his sides. "You have no idea what I want right now and how close you are – "

Cordelia was annoyed, _it takes two, buddy_. She knew her face reflected her irritation. "Angel," she started again, "You don't have –"

Pushing her away from him, he said caustically, "Go back to your nail polish and pretty dresses, little girl. You _don't_ know. All you understand is a world where a nice smile and an 'I'm sorry' can buy you a solution to a problem. You don't live in the real world."

"Real world? You're a freaking vampire with a soul – I have brain-splitting visions of the future – we battle demons and prophecies from Hell – NEITHER of us live in the real world!" Cordelia's angry words left her mouth.

"Maybe you're right," he conceded coldly. Angel's eyes bored into her. "But in that world, I don't give a damn about you. All I want to do is suck you dry," he looked at her piercingly, "after I've had you like the whore you make yourself out to be."

His words stabbed into her, and she stood speechless. She gaped at him, wondering at his tone and his wickedness. The silence built between them, and she finally dropped her gaze, feeling a flush creep into her cheeks – she willed herself not to cry. She heard him finally take a step or two, but Cordelia didn't look up again until he had crossed to her door and exited. She was a little surprised that he didn't slam the door behind him.

Still stunned, she stood motionless for a while, numb from his stinging words. Moving with difficulty, she limped to her bathroom. There, she took a white towel, wet it, and wiped her foot, wincing as the rough terrycloth caught the edge of a glass shard buried in her heel. She tenderly pulled it out and bandaged her foot with gauze and tape.

She used the towel to clean up the mess made on her floor – the glass, the water, the blood. Then, she placed the towel in her bathroom sink. Somehow, she made it to her bed, and then she allowed herself to feel the brunt of his words.

Grabbing a pillow and holding it close to her chest, she frowned and closed her eyes tightly. She chided herself, wondering at what she had done and what she was thinking, vowing she'd never make a fool out of herself again like that . . . and promising she'd never think of him in that way again. She didn't know when she would forgive him for it, but she did know he was undergoing some major trauma right now. On some level, she even knew it wasn't really him who was speaking. Still, even as her tears formed in her eyes and began to trickle down her cheeks, Cordelia didn't think he would ever know just how much he had hurt her feelings.


End file.
